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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483097">waste your precious breath</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwsfrancia/pseuds/hwsfrancia'>hwsfrancia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>16th Century, M/M, Possessive Behavior, The Italian Wars, Unhealthy Relationships, handjobs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:28:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwsfrancia/pseuds/hwsfrancia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Italian Wars draw to a close, Naples is exhausted from battle and once again under the heel of the Spanish Crown.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Austria/Spain (Hetalia) - mentioned, South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>waste your precious breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The late afternoon sun lights up the dust motes swirling in the air, making everything hazy and sleepy. Romano doesn’t feel like he could sleep, no matter how much he wants to—he’s been wound taught as the rigging on one of Antonio’s ships, creaking from strain. Even lying in a puddle of buttery sunlight, he feels ready to leap up and fight at any second. Each time he closes his eyes, he hears metal on metal, hundreds of mouths calling for blood or begging for mercy in Spanish, German, French, Tuscan—and Neapolitan, that most of all, near drowning out everything else.</p><p>He should be in pain. He should be crying with the hundreds of his people grieving their losses, but he can’t. The pain hovers over him, ready to crash down like a wave, but never does. For years now, he’s slept uneasily, ready to be roused for battle at any moment. He’s been his own master, a Norman subject, a Spanish vassal, and a French conquest—but the fighting never ceases.</p><p>He thinks of Venice, secure in his harbor city, probably cradling a cup of good wine as he reads of the treaty at Cateau-Cambresis. He can imagine the little smile curling his brother’s lips. He takes a swig of his own wine, cheap as dirt and tasting more of vinegar than grapes, feeling bitterness turn his stomach and rise in his throat. It should be him who is safe and free.</p><p>He used to boil with anger over his treatment at the hands of his neighbours. They were stupid, childish upstarts, he had thought, uncivilized Northerners grasping at his father’s legacy. They should have respected him as Rome’s son, but instead he was overrun again and again.</p><p>Now, he can’t bring himself to resent Antonio or Bonnefoy or even Edelstein. They’re only doing what kingdoms do. Romano’s done it himself.</p><p>A shadow falls over his face, and Romano looks up to see Antonio’s face blocking out his sun. He scrambles up and bows. “Signore,” he begins, but Antonio grabs his shoulders and pulls him upright. </p><p>“Nonsense, my Naples, don’t do that with me! Aren’t I your dear friend?” When he hesitates, Antonio releases him and steps back, but keeps a hold of his hands. “Poor thing, you’re shocked from these months of battle. I’ll have to care for you until you’re well again.”</p><p>“I’m not much worse off than you,” Romano says before he can stop himself. He braces for petulance, but Antonio only laughs softly. He does look worse for wear—no visible injuries for their kind, but he moves stiffly and exhaustion seems to cling to him like a shroud. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and his eyes are deeply shadowed. His fine clothes do some work to hide it--a stiff, high-necked green doublet strung with gold, black trunkhose, fine leather shoes. But no hat, no overgown, like a gentleman would wear out of his house. Romano knows him well enough to picture him getting angry at the heat of the day and tossing them carelessly to the floor. </p><p><em>What must I look like then</em>, he wonders, <em>even more worn down, and without any fine clothes to hide it?</em></p><p>“A blind man could see how tired I am, it’s true,” says Antonio. “But it’s been worth it. Bonnefoy has recognized my claim on you, and withdrawn from the peninsula.” He says it like he’s trying to convince himself. “It’ll be better from now on, my Naples, you’ll see.”</p><p>“What makes you sure he’ll honor it?” Romano asks, and doesn’t say <em>what makes you sure you can honor it? </em></p><p>“He will,” Antonio’s expression is unreadable, and Romano doesn’t like it. Usually he can read him like a child’s hornbook. “But don’t worry yourself over it, my Naples.” He reaches out to touch Romano’s face. “I’ll take care of politics for you. You don’t need to think of it.”</p><p>Romano leans into Antonio’s hand, glad for any touch that isn’t from an enemy soldier. “So Bonnefoy is gone,” he ventures. “And—Austria?”</p><p>The kindness goes out of Antonio’s eyes, and he pulls his hand back. Romano tries and fails not to miss it. “I have told you before not to sharpen your tongue on my husband, Naples,” he says.</p><p>“I wasn’t,” Romano protests. “I just wanted to know.”</p><p>Antonio leans against the broad stone window sill. “We’ll be ruled separately from now on,” he sighs. “So I’ll be seeing less of him.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” says Romano, and he means it. He cares not at all for Edelstein, but seeing Antonio sad makes his heart twist.</p><p>“I forgive you.” Antonio meets his eyes and smiles. “Let’s not talk of this anymore. I’ve thought of nothing but Henry and Phillip and their damn treaty for days.” He holds out his hands. “I’ve missed seeing you during all this. Come here.”</p><p>Romano breathes out heavily, and his exhaustion hits him like a wave. He steps obediently into the circle of Antonio’s arms. They snake around him quickly and a little too tightly, as if he’s afraid Romano will run. “There, see? You’re safe now, under my rule.” He slumps against Antonio’s shoulder, too tired to even hug him back. Antonio kisses his temple and slides a hand into his hair, under his cap. “I’ll take you back to Madrid with me until the worst of the rebuilding is over. You don’t have to see it, my Naples.” He pulls back and smiles, sweet as a bunch of grapes. “I’ve saved you like I promised I would.” He leans forward.</p><p><em>And I'm your vassal again</em>, Romano thinks, but he closes his eyes and opens his mouth for the kiss.</p><p>-o-</p><p>
  <em>He dreams of sitting on a throne, surrounded by faceless courtiers. There’s a crown on his head, heavy gold and wrought iron, close to the papal tiara in size. It pinches his brow and strains his neck, and he wants to take it off, to rest his head, but he can’t. He might be laughed at. But the crown seems to grow heavier every minute, hurting him as badly as if it were woven from thorns. Something wet runs down his brow and drips off his nose, onto his lips, filling his mouth with salt and metal. He’s bleeding, the damned crown is making him bleed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A familiar figure emerges from the crowd, and he almost cries out in relief. Antonio smiles, wide and white and terrible, stretching out his hands. “That crown must be heavy, my poor Naples. Shall I take it from your head?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes. God, please, yes. He can't speak. He nods eagerly. Looking at Antonio, he can ignore how the crown pinches his brow. He can hear the court beginning to laugh at him, but suddenly he doesn’t care. Antonio lifts the crown off his head, tossing it to the floor. Romano smiles happily and falls into his arms. </em>
</p><p>Romano wakes up breathing hard, kicking the sheets off his legs. There’s a hand on his shoulder, gentling him, and he remember’s he’s in Antonio’s bed. Antonio is propped up over him, worry pinching his face. Romano does his best to breathe—he’s shivering and sweaty and shaking like a leaf.</p><p>And he’s hard. God damn him, why is he hard?</p><p>Antonio’s hand trails down his ride, and Romano decides he doesn’t want to think about it. So instead he stretches up to kiss Antonio’s mouth, slinging a leg over his hips.</p><p>“Hey,” Antonio pulls back a little. “Hey, Roma. Are you certain right now?”</p><p>Of all the damned times for him to be shy about it. “Yes,” Romano hisses, and guides the hand at his ribcage down between his legs. He needs to come and then fall asleep like a dampened candle, needs something to forget the laughter of the dream-courtiers still ringing in his ears.</p><p>Antonio doesn’t take much convincing, thankfully. He never does. He closes a hand around Romano’s cock, and tangles the other one in his hair. They kiss lazily as Romano circles his hips, pushing against Antonio’s gentle hold, happy at feeling that rough sailor’s hand on him again.</p><p>Romano has rough hands too, from field work and battle. They catch on the fine cloth of the clothes that Antonio brings him as presents, and he never knows whether to be ashamed of it or not.</p><p>Antonio’s hand moves faster, brushing a thumb across the tip of his cock, heat and tension building in his stomach. He breaks away from the kiss to bury his head in Antonio’s shoulder.</p><p>“Yes, Naples, my Naples, right there in my hand,” Antonio murmurs in his ear and kisses his neck. “That’s where you belong.”</p><p>It breaks across Romano like a wave, and he shudders, clinging to Antonio’s shoulder. He doesn’t cry out—he’s gotten good at being quiet. Antonio pulls his hand away gently, careful to avoid touching the blankets, and kisses Romano’s brow. He can’t even mock the open affection.</p><p>“All right, thank you,” he says, as if Antonio is a vendor who’s sold him a particularly nice jar of olives. “Now go wash your hand off and come back to bed.”</p><p>Antonio looks at him for a long moment. Then he grins and licks it off his palm.</p><p>Romano sputters and rolls his eyes. “You’re disgusting.”</p><p>“I didn’t want to get up.” Antonio sidles up next to him and flings an arm over his stomach.</p><p>“Lazy bastard,” Romano turns in his arms to kiss his nose.</p><p>“I fight a war for you and then I play you as sweetly as my vihuela, and you talk to me like this.” Antonio nips his neck. “What a vassal you are.”</p><p>If Romano hadn’t just come, and if he hadn’t been too exhausted to even twitch, his stomach might have turned to lead. As it is, he lets himself be comfortable in Antonio’s arms, and slips into a mercifully blank sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- The Italian Wars were a long and EXTREMELY complicated series of wars that lasted from the end of the 15th to the middle of the 16th centuries. (1494-1559) Italy at this point was not a unified country the way we think of it today, but many small kingdoms and republics, all of whom had their own loyalties and alliances and interests within these wars. Probably the simplest way to understand the Italian Wars is as a conflict between France and the Spanish Habsburgs (with the Austrian branch of that family and consequently also the Holy Roman Empire also being heavily involved.) But again, massive oversimplification.<br/>- Peace was achieved in 1559, with the signing of the Treaty of Cateau-Cambrésis, which acknowledged Spanish claims on Naples, Sicily and Sardinia, and basically ended French power in Italy (they retained a few territories and some fortresses, but the bulk of the peninsula was in either Spanish or Austrian Habsburg hands)<br/>-Naples in particular had spent the whole of the wars being ping-ponged back and forth between France and Spain (conflict was actually kicked off initially by the invasion of Charles VIII of France in 1494)<br/>-As always, if my history is wrong I am open to correction! I am just one person with an internet connection and this time and place is very complex. This fic is more of a character piece, and I'm trying to keep the actual historical info in my fics easily verifiable things (like dates, treaty terms, and so on) but if anyone who is more well-versed in this topic has an objection I'd be glad to hear it.<br/>-I gave this an M rating because the sexual scene is pretty vague and not the focus of the fic, but lmk in the comments if you think I should bump it up to an E.<br/>-and finally, BIG thank you to cupofkey for the beta!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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